Their Particular Brand Of Normal
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Sherlock's return sent John into a downward spiral of loneliness. Can Mycroft pull him from the abyss? Warning for suicidal thoughts/suicide attempt.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 **Written for auction prompt - Can You Feel The Love Tonight by Elton John (Used a couple of lyrics as dialogue)**

 **Word count - 3900**

 **Warning for suicidal thoughts/suicide attempt.**

* * *

 **Their Particular Brand Of Normal**

* * *

 **October 31st 2013**

 _My blog is set to private again. I don't know why I'm bothering. The only people that would possibly be interested in reading this are perfectly able to hack it without breaking a sweat._

 _It's Halloween._

 _Tonight, I should be at a ball with my Fiance. I should be sipping wine, talking to people about my upcoming wedding. I should be blissfully happy._

 _I should be… I don't even know why I'm writing this. My blogging days are well and truly done. They have been for a long time._

 _Even his return can't…_

 _I hate him._

 _For the second time, he's taken everything in my life away from me without blinking._

 _This is pointless._

* * *

 **November 11th 2013**

 _Two years ago today, Mycroft kissed me for the first time._

 _A year ago today, he asked me to marry him._

 _Today… Today is supposed to be my wedding day._

 _This still isn't helping._

* * *

 **December 31st 2013**

 _I've never been more ready to see the end of a year. I'm feeling optimistic about the next one. It's not like it can be any fucking worse._

* * *

Have you been reading his blog? SH

Of course. MH

Why hasn't he posted anything? It's been over a month. SH

I don't know. MH

* * *

 **March 2nd 2014**

 _I can't believe that it took Harry to talk some sense into me. What kind of bullshit is that? She's right though. The last thing I need right now is to be too drunk to pay the rent. Still, it's cheaper here than London, so there's that._

 _I took a job at the local hospital. I doubt it will be as exciting as A &E was back home… back in London, but a job is a job. At least now, I know I'm helping people again. _

_If I can't help myself, at least I can help someone else. I suppose that should be enough._

 _It will have to be._

* * *

 **March 9th 2014**

 _Why is everything I see a reminder of them. Fucking Holmeses! If it's not one it's the other. I can't eat chinese anymore, because it reminds me of Sherlock. I can't go anywhere that requires a suit, because it reminds me of Mycroft._

 _I wish I didn't need them._

 _I wish I didn't miss Sherlock._

 _I wish I didn't love Mycroft._

 _Fucking Holmeses._

* * *

 **April 1st 2014**

 _Still alive, Harry. Jesus, when you asked for the password, I didn't think you'd be texting me every day to ask why I wasn't posting._

 _I have nothing to say is all._

* * *

 **April 20th 2014**

 _Still alive, Harry._

* * *

 **April 21st 2014**

 _I lost a patient in surgery today._

 _It's strange. As soon as I'd removed the scrubs, I pulled out my phone and pressed Mycroft's number. It's been months and yet, I need comfort and he's the first person I think of._

 _I wish I didn't need him._

 _Still alive, Harry._

* * *

Are you still reading his blog? SH

Yes. MH

Why haven't you been and fetched him home yet? He clearly misses you. SH

If he wants to come home, all he has to do is say the word. I'm sure he knows that. MH.

What if he doesn't? SH

* * *

 **April 25th 2014**

 _My Boss is making me take a week off work. He's acting like the other day was the first time I've ever lost a patient._

 _I don't want a week off work._

 _Still alive, Harry._

* * *

 **April 27th 2014**

 _Are you still reading this, Mycroft? Do you miss me as much as I miss you? I doubt it. I'm sure you've many pressing matters to attend too, not least keeping Sherlock alive… again._

 _I wish I hadn't walked away from you like I did. I just…_

 _Why would you do that? After everything that happened, why would you let him ambush me like that without any kind of warning? I'm not even angry about the hiding him being alive thing anymore._

 _I understand that you were protecting your brother. I do._

 _Why would you not warn me that he was coming back?_

 _Why am I asking questions that I'm never going to get answers to?_

 _I'm a fucking idiot._

 _Unfortunately, Harry, I'm still alive. Yay._

* * *

If you don't go to him, then I will. SH.

Leave him alone if you value the life I helped to protect. I'm not playing, Sherlock. MH

How long are you going to let this continue? SH

Ignoring me too now, Mycroft? SH

* * *

 **May 23rd 2014**

 _Harry, I tried to call you, but you're not answering your phone. You'll read this whenever you read it, I suppose. I'm leaving. I can't be here._

 _It doesn't matter that I'm not in London anymore, I just can't…_

 _Everything is still here. Sherlock is in the news, Mycroft is… fuck. Mycroft is everywhere even when I'm not actually seeing him. I need space to try and rid my mind of the pain and the hurt and the loss and… well._

 _I'm never going to get rid of the love, but three out of four will still be a win._

 _I'll see you… whenever._

 _I love you, Harry. Look after yourself, okay?_

* * *

What flight will he be on? SH.

Mycroft! SH

Dammit, Mycroft, don't let him do this! SH

You're a bastard. I'll never forgive you for this. SH

* * *

 **May 25th 2014**

 _Why am I so fucking weak?_

* * *

 **May 30th 2014**

 _I was supposed to be on a pretty beach somewhere today, but instead, I'm still sitting in my shitty flat wondering why I couldn't just suck it up and get on that fucking plane._

 _Sherlock, if you're still reading this, you should know that I forgive you. I don't know if anyone told you how hard I took your death, but I don't want you to feel any misguided guilt. I'm a grown man and honestly; I always knew you meant more to me than I did to you._

 _I don't blame you for that._

 _Please, just… look after yourself, okay? Make sure you eat, and sleep, and take care of yourself. If you ever cared for me at all, then keep yourself clean and maybe let a few people into your life. Mrs Hudson, Molly, Greg… they all care about you._

 _I love you, Sherlock. You're my best friend, the smartest man I've ever known, and one of the most human humans I've ever had the privilege of having met._

 _Mycroft. Mycroft, I love you. So much. You have no idea. I wish I'd stuck around long enough to calm down and talk to you, but… well. You know what I'm like when I'm angry and emotional. You took the brunt of my anger when you didn't deserve it and for that, I apologise._

 _Don't work so hard. Anthea knows what she's doing and she managed admirably whenever you left her in charge to spend time with me, so you know that you can take time away from the office without worrying._

 _You're the best man I know. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different. Take care of yourself, okay? And never forget that with you, I realised what love was supposed to be._

 _Thank you both for showing me what life, and love, could be._

 _Dr. John Hamish Watson._

* * *

Mycroft!

On it.

* * *

The steady beeping told John he was in the hospital before he even attempted to open his eyes. Waves of shame and anger and hopelessness washed over him as he realised that, yet again, his quest to find peace had been thwarted.

He thought about opening his eyes, perhaps in the hope of finding whoever had 'saved' him from himself, but the idea of having to face up to a continuation of a life he had no wish to live was horrifying.

His thoughts turned to the blog post, the only thing that could have possibly given anyone forewarning of what he was planning and he cursed his own dramatics. If only he'd thought to put a timer on the post, to stop it from posting; even just for a few hours.

Harry must have been on her computer when he posted it. It was the only logical explanation. She knew his address, she could have easily sent the emergency services to his flat. Another wave of shame passed through him. His sister had enough of her own problems. She didn't need the pressure of trying to keep him alive on top of that.

Footsteps and a hand on his arm startled him from his thoughts and he blinked his eyes a few times, the light painful.

"Ah, Dr Watson. Glad to see you awake."

The room was the standard white, though surprisingly it was private, and John didn't recognise the doctor. He frowned slightly, but allowed the doctor to do his checks in silence.

"Your stats are good," the doctor commented quietly.

"When can I leave?" John whispered, forcing the words through his dry mouth.

"There will be a psychiatrist along to see you in a couple of hours to assess your mental state, Dr Watson. The final decision on your release will rest with them."

John rolled his eyes. He didn't need another shrink. Turning onto his side, back to the door, he curled up as much as his limbs would allow and closed his eyes again. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to breath.

And if he ever told the shrink that, he'd never get the peace he so desired.

* * *

John woke up again a few hours later to the click of the door closing. He heard footsteps and opened his eyes in time to see a pretty female sitting in the chair facing him.

"Hello, John. I'm Abigail Reed, I believe Doctor Randall told you I was coming?"

"You're the shrink," John croaked out.

"Would you like some water?" she asked, gesturing to the jug of iced water on the moving table by the bed. John hesitated for a moment before he nodded. Dehydration was both a horrible way to die and also wouldn't be feasible while in hospital. They could easily sedate him and put him on a drip.

He sat up, accepting the plastic beaker that was handed to him. The cold water was heavenly and he took his time taking small sips, enjoying the freshness on his palette.

When he put the beaker down, he looked at the shrink expectedly, waiting for the usual spiel. He really wasn't interested in talking it out with anyone, let alone a stranger, but if he didn't at least pretend to show some interest, he had a feeling she wouldn't leave him alone.

"I suppose you know why I was asked to come and see you?" she said after a moment, glancing down at the notes on her knee.

He nodded mutely.

"Why don't you tell me a little about how you're feeling now?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather not if it's all the same."

"How about you tell me how you were feeling when you posted your last blog post?"

"I'd prefer not to talk about that either."

"Why don't you pick a subject, John?"

Her voice was patient and oddly gentle, but it did nothing for John. He didn't want patient and gentle.

"I'd rather not."

She smiled slightly at that but nodded. "Fair enough. Nobody can force you to talk to me, or anybody else."

John sighed. "Look, we both know why you're here. You need to ascertain if I'll try and commit suicide again. I made a mistake, I won't repeat it."

"Was the mistake the suicide attempt, or the blog post that allowed for you to be saved?"

He scowled at her but didn't reply, shifting his heavy limbs so he was laying on his back. Honestly, he'd been talking about the blog post, but he couldn't readily admit that to the woman who had his release in her hands.

"I won't make another attempt on my life," he said eventually.

"That's certainly good to hear," she replied neutrally. "But you'll forgive me if I fear that you're merely telling me what you think I want to hear in an attempt to be released."

Suddenly tired, John sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Believe what you want to believe, I guess. I'm done talking."

Closing his eyes, John waited for her to leave and was rewarded with loneliness only fifteen minutes later. He knew that they couldn't keep him here indefinitely. It was just a matter of waiting.

* * *

"Under the Mental Health Act, you have to allow me to contact my nearest relative, in this case my sister, Harriet Watson. She'll sign for my release," John said flatly when the doctor rejoined him that evening.

"We've spoken to Miss Watson. As she has her own issues with substance abuse, she's not the ideal candidate to have you released to, Dr Watson, surely you can understand that?" Dr Randall replied calmly. "As it goes, the person who had you admitted to us has offered to take the responsibility for your care if you're willing."

"Who?" John asked, frowning. He'd honestly assumed that Harry had been the one to call for help when she'd read his post. Who else would be interested in reading the ramblings of a depressed idiot anyway?

"He'll be here shortly," Dr Randall replied. "He asked that we allow him to disclose his identity."

John ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I just want out of here. I won't commit suicide. I'll keep myself healthy. Dammit just let me leave already!"

"I'm sorry Dr Watson. Hopefully we'll be able to release you into the custody of the person who offered in a few hours."

"Custody? I'm not a fucking child!"

"One of the nurses will be along shortly with some food for you," Dr Randall said quietly.

"Don't bother," John growled. "I'm not hungry."

He sat up in the bed, angrily pushing his pillows back to lean on. With his knees up, he leant his elbows on them and dropped his head into the cradle they created.

He didn't look up when the door opened again. He wasn't interested in anymore chat about how he needed someone else to look after his well-being. He was a grown man.

"Sherlock will be pleased to see you. It took me quite a while to convince him to wait at home for us to join him."

The familiar voice sent a shiver down his spine as his eyes filled with tears. Of course. It had to be Mycroft.

"My humiliation just keeps growing," he muttered, his voice muffled by his arm. "Leave me alone, please."

"John…"

There was a hitch in his breath, and then John felt the bed dip as Mycroft sat down beside him. The tears dropped from his eyes as the scent of Mycroft's cologne washed over him, the scent that John had long since associated with comfort and love and happiness.

Strong arms pulled him out of his position, pulled him against a broad chest, holding him tightly in a firm embrace. Kisses were pressed to his head as the dam broke and he sobbed into the crisp white shirt he'd been pressed against.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so, so, sorry," Mycroft murmured, his hand rubbing John's back. "I should never have stayed away so long."

John didn't reply. He clung to Mycroft, praying that the other man wouldn't leave him, no matter the words he'd said. This was what he'd missed. This was what he needed.

He didn't know how long he cried, but by the time his eyes had dried up, he was completely spent, emotionally wrung out. When he shifted back so he could look at Mycroft, he was surprised to see that he wasn't the only one with evidence of tears on his face. Raising a shaking hand, he wiped away the dampness on Mycroft's face gently.

"Don't cry for me, Mycroft," he whispered. "I'm not worth your tears."

A stricken look crossed Mycroft's face as he took John's hand in his own, stroking the palm with his thumb. "You're worth that and so much more, John. I…"

"I'm sorry," John said quietly. "I didn't… I didn't think you were still reading the blog. I didn't think anyone but Harry was reading it, and I rather thought she'd just pass along the general gist of what I said. I didn't expect… I wasn't… It…"

He broke off, frustrated with himself for being unable to voice his messy thoughts.

Mycroft shushed him gently.

"I'm tired, Mycroft. I'm just so goddamn tired."

"I know. Let me look after you, John. Please? It's all I want… we don't have to… I'm not trying to convince you to take me back. This isn't a ploy to manipulate you. I just want you to be happy, it's all I ever wanted for you."

"I just want-" John broke off, shaking his head. It didn't matter what he wanted, he'd ruined it all months ago. Even now, Mycroft was only here because he'd happened to catch a blog post that he shouldn't have.

"What do you want, John?"

Shaking his head, John didn't reply. He wasn't going to guilt Mycroft into anything.

"John, please. Tell me what you want. Please."

Looking up to meet Mycroft's eyes, John sighed. "You. I just… I just want you, Mycroft."

"I've been yours since the day we met, John. Of that, there is absolutely no doubt."

…

They travelled in the back of the black town car in silence, Mycroft's arm wrapped firmly around John, holding him to his side. John was too tired to protest, and in fairness, he didn't think he'd have the will to anyway. It was heaven, and even though he knew it would break him even more when it ended, John allowed himself to indulge.

All too soon, they were pulling up at Mycroft's home; John's old home.

"Sherlock will undoubtedly be inside, are you ready to see him?" Mycroft asked quietly, in no hurry to get out of the car.

John shrugged. He just wanted to go to sleep.

Mycroft kissed the top of his head gently. "Come on, let's get you inside and to bed."

John wanted to rage against the kid gloves Mycroft was using, he hated being treated like he was made of glass, but he didn't have the energy. Instead he nodded, allowing Mycroft to help him from the car and then lead him to the front door by the hand.

Sherlock was waiting for them in the hallway. John couldn't meet his eyes, the shame that he'd worried the younger man returning in full force.

Why the bloody hell had he posted on the blog?

Instead he stayed silent as Mycroft led him to the bedroom they'd once shared. He let Mycroft strip him to his underwear, and climbed into bed. Mycroft's scent lingered on the sheets and pillows.

He thought Mycroft would leave him there, but moments later, he felt strong arms pulling him back against a bare chest.

"Sleep, John. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

…

They didn't really talk about the elephant in the room. Mycroft tiptoed around the subject, instead putting all of his effort into feeding John, and keeping him distracted with movies and long naps and books.

John didn't really want to rock the boat, scared of what would happen when Mycroft decided that he'd done all he could he help John. Part of him knew that Mycroft loved him, but another part, a part that was admittedly growing smaller every day, told him that Mycroft was doing this out of some sense of duty, that he was doing it because he felt he had to, not because he wanted to.

Sherlock was there in the background. He'd spoken to John when he'd woke up after first arriving, apologising for the way he'd sprung his survival on his friend, and awkwardly telling John how much he'd missed him. The conversation had been hard, but they'd got through it.

Now they were in some kind of holding space, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to get back to some semblance of normality.

...

Days passed and Mycroft stayed. He worked from home, spending every possible moment with John. It was comforting and irritating in equal measure.

It only took a week for John to snap.

"Mycroft, you can go to work. I won't off myself while you're out running the country!"

Mycroft turned sad eyes on John, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "For a few minutes, the longest few minutes of my life, I thought I was too late to send the paramedics. I thought that you'd died while I was being too pigheaded to come and beg for your forgiveness. You'll have to forgive me now if I don't want to let you out of my sight."

John sighed. "Mycroft… I won't do it again. I promise."

Nodding, Mycroft let go of John's hand and raised his own to cup John's jaw. "I love you, John Watson. I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, if you'll let me."

John leant into the touch. "There's nothing to make up."

"I will have to respectfully disagree with that," Mycroft replied, taking a step closer, his lips tilting up in a smile.

As Mycroft leant down to press his lips to John's, a noise behind John made them both stop, turning to see Sherlock leaning against the doorway.

"Sherlock… piss off," Mycroft growled. "We're in the middle of something here."

Sherlock snorted. "I can see that. John… I, erm. I'm sorry?"

John grinned, unable to help himself. Sherlock was just so typically Sherlock and it made John smile. The years away had changed Sherlock, he was more serious now, less flippant, but it was nice to know that he was still inherently Sherlock.

When Sherlock saw the grin on John's face, his eyes lit up. "Lestrade called…"

John raised his eyebrow.

"Are you ready?"

John looked back at Mycroft, who was watching him with an indulgent smile.

"Raincheck?" John asked, the promise of a chase filling him with adrenaline he'd missed for so long.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft dipped his head and kissed John firmly on the mouth. "Go. I'll see you later."

John turned towards Sherlock, turning back when he reached the door. "I love you."

"And I you," Mycroft replied softly.

…

John was asleep when Mycroft climbed into bed. He stirred when arms wrapped around him, turning to face the man he loved.

"Did you save England?" he murmured, still half asleep.

"We'll stand to fight another day," Mycroft confirmed, settling down properly, burying his face in John's hair. "Did you and Sherlock enjoy the case?"

"Uh huh," John murmured. "Tell you over breakfast."

"I look forward to it."

As John was drifting back off to sleep, wrapped up tightly in Mycroft's embrace, he heard Mycroft whisper, "You make me believe the very best in life can be ours, John. Can you feel the love I feel for you? Do you have any idea?"

John pressed a messy kiss to Mycroft's chest. "I feel your love every day. Sleep."

Mycroft kissed John's head and followed him into slumber.

Life was back to their particular brand of normal, and they'd both silently vowed that they'd never leave the other again.


End file.
